Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me. Shannon McKenna

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ apprentice. He was an artist. He should have been a world-renowned designer for the talent he had, but he didn’t care about being famous. He just loved the craft. He didn’t even care about being paid. Which drove my mother crazy.” She smiled at the memory.

      “Beauty for beauty’s sake alone?” Val offered gently.

      “I suppose so,” she said.

      Val leaned over their clasped hands and dropped a kiss on her knuckle. “Your family was Muslim, then?”

      She shrugged. “A mixed marriage. My mother was an Orthodox Christian from Ukraina. She was the one who cared about religion. We celebrated Easter, Christmas. My father just worshipped beauty. And his wife. He adored her.”

      He kissed her hand again and waited patiently for more.

      “They met in Paris.” She found herself continuing, for some unknown reason. “He was an adventurer, a wandering rebel. She was an illegal immigrant, working in a garment sweatshop, dreaming of studying someday at the Sorbonne. He was twenty-two, she was nineteen. He was beautiful, she was beautiful—”

      “I do not wonder at it,” he said.

      “They fell madly in love,” she continued. “I was born. They had no money. Then my grandfather got sick and called my father home. We went to Zetrinja to see him, and we never left the place. Until Colonel Drago Stengl of the JNA and his secret death squad came marching in.”

      His hand tightened over hers. She clung to it.

      “It was so ironic,” she whispered. “He was the gentlest man I ever knew. I hardly ever heard him raise his voice, for my whole childhood. And they executed him. Just stood him up and shot him for being a paramilitary. Can you believe it? Him, a fucking paramilitary. God.”

      Her heart started to race, stomach rolling as she stared down at the oil on her plate, the flecks of chopped parsley. The red, juicy chunk of Val’s steak. Her blood pressure was dropping.

      Enough. She had already told him more than she’d ever told any other living person.

      She jerked her hand out from under his, breaking the spell. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said tightly. “Let’s get back to business. Do you know where we can get some decent firepower around here? I don’t like being on the same continent with that filthy scum without a gun. Or two, or three.”

      “I agree completely. A friend of mine is in Salerno, arranging it for us,” he said. “We will meet with him tomorrow.”

      “Good. Get me a Glock 9mm or a SIG .357, with a good supply of ammo and spare cartridges. I want a Ruger for backup. A shoulder holster, an ankle holster and a hip strap, if he can find one. I also want some plastique for the bomblets. I don’t need much.”

      He nodded, sipping his wine. “I will see what I can do.”

      “You do that.” Their conversation about the past had killed what appetite she’d had. She pushed her half-finished plate away. “I’m done.”

      They were silent as they walked back to the hotel. Tam prepared herself psychologically should he try to take her hand again. She couldn’t quite tell if she was relieved or disappointed when he did not.

      Back at the room, she wasted no time getting ready for sleep, and slid beneath the rumpled covers. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

      “We have an appointment with Donatella Amato and Ana Santarini, at ten thirty tomorrow morning,” he told her. “At Ana’s house near Positano. Then, we make our plan, based on what Henry tells us tomorrow, and our own observations.”

      A shiver racked her, the chill touch of the past. Like an animated corpse’s finger on the back of her neck. Then he began to strip off his clothing, and every coherent thought fled from her head.

      “Hey!” she said. “Janos!”

      He wrenched off his shirt, peeling the sleeves off his thick muscled arms. “Call me Val, for the love of God. Sì?”

      “I want to sleep alone,” she said pointedly. “I told you that.”

      He looked around the room in mock dismay. “But there is only one bed.”

      “Whose fault is that? I didn’t book the room, bozo.”

      He stripped off his pants, leaving only black briefs that outlined his manly package. She wrenched her gaze away.

      “But I wanted this room. I wanted the beautiful view and the loggia for you.” He gave her a brazen, deal-with-it grin and slid into bed with her. “Rest easy. I will not come on to you.” He stretched out his long body, folding his arms back behind his head. “Relax and sleep,” he urged. “Tomorrow you must be sharp to meet this Santarini woman.”

      Tam hunched up against the headboard, hugging her knees to her chest. “I already have met her.”

      Val sat bolt upright. “Met her?” He sounded outraged. “Che cazzo dici? This is terrible! You did not tell me that!”

      “You didn’t ask,” Tam said.

      “But will she recognize you?” he demanded. “We cannot risk—”

      “No. She won’t recognize me. It was sixteen years ago. I had puppy fat, shorter hair, a different nose. I’ve had cosmetic surgery, more than once. My eye color will be different. My energy is different. And Ana is so self-absorbed, she’ll never make the connection.”

      He leaned back, mollified. “Hmmph. How do you know her?”

      This subject was on her short list of the last things on earth that she wanted to talk about, but it seemed stupid to refuse. She’d already shared details from the past in the restaurant, without breaking down, or triggering a stress flashback. Thank God.

      She composed herself. She could do this. Cool, methodical. A list of events as they occurred, no digressing, no expanding.

      “I was Stengl’s mistress for a few months,” she said.

      Val went rigid. He slowly turned, staring down at her. Shocked.

      “His mistress?” he said. “After what he—after your family—”

      “My father was shot with the rest of the men and boys that day.” She recited the facts in a leaden voice. “My mother and little sister and I were taken to Sremska Mitrovica. The concentration camp. It was a filthy shithole. Irina died first. A flu of some kind. The diarrhea carried her off. Then my mother, though I’m not sure it was flu that killed her. I think she’d just had enough.”

      “Ah, Tamar,” he whispered. “I did not know. I am sorry.”

      “I caught his eye, somehow,” Tam continued grimly. “I don’t know how I could have attracted anyone, as filthy as I was. They never let us bathe in that place. But he noticed me. He pulled me out, took me to Titograd. Installed me in a hotel room to play with in his off-hours. There was no one left to notice or care what happened to me. They were all dead.” She stared down at her hands, twisting the sheet. “I was locked in that room for weeks. Months, maybe. In limbo. I lost track of time.”

СКАЧАТЬ